In answer to my query as to whether Caux had smart enough visitors to justify an editor sending there a special correspondent, I had the following letter from Zeyneb:

Caux, Jan. 1907.

The articles which I have written for you on the beauties of Switzerland will possibly not appeal to the British public.

For a long time last night, when I returned to my room, I tried to make you understand the intense delight I had felt in watching the good-night kiss which the lovesick moon had given to the beautiful lake, before going away far into space.

This moon scene reminds me more than ever of one of our magnificent moonlights on the Bosphorus, and I am sure if you had been with me on the Terrace you would have loved the moonlit Bosphorus for its resemblance to Leman, and Leman for helping you to understand how wonderful is the Bosphorus. But the poetry of moonlight does not appeal evidently to the British soul, since they are clamouring for news of people who are “smart.”

I have always wondered at the eagerness with which the society ladies here seize the paper. Now I understand—it is to see whether their names are included amongst people “who are smart.” What a morbid taste, to want to see one’s name in a newspaper!

I could not tell you whether the people or the life at Caux would be considered smart. They certainly are extraordinary, and the life they lead seems to me to be a complete reversal of all prevailing customs. From early in the morning till late at night they toboggan and skate. Everything is arranged with a view to the practice of these two sports. I cannot tell you the disagreeable impression that the women produce on me, sitting astride of their little machines and coming down the slope with a giddy rapidity. Their hair is all out of order, their faces vivid scarlet, and their skirts, arranged like those of a Cambodgian dancer, are lacking in grace. But this is not a competition for a beauty prize; all that counts is to go more quickly down the course than the others, no matter whether you kill yourself in the attempt.

That there are people in England who are interested in knowing who is staying at a Swiss Hotel, the guests they receive, and the clothes they wear, is an unpleasant discovery for me. I thought English people were more intelligent.

One of the reasons for which we left Turkey was, that we could no longer bear the degrading supervision of the Sultan’s spies. But is it not almost the same here? Here, too, there are detectives of a kind! Alas! Alas! there is no privacy inside or outside Turkey.

The people who interest me most are not the smart ladies, but the Swiss themselves. They alone in all this cosmopolitan crowd know that the sun has flooded with its golden tints the wonderful panorama of their mountains, the lake stretches out in a mystery of mauve and rose, and they alone have time to bow in admiration to the Creator of Beauty and the great Poet of Nature.—Affectionately,

Zeyneb.